‘Alas, it seems that Bishop Ultán’s circle of acquaintances ever widens,’ he said.
‘I do not understand it,’ Eadulf replied with a shake of his head. ‘While yesterday Brother Berrihert told me of how this Abbot Ultán split the community in which he and his brothers served on Inis Bó Finne, and how they came south for independence and peace, he mentioned nothing that would give rise to some mortal hatred of Ultán. Certainly he gave no indication of animosity to the extent that his death might be encompassed.’
‘The emotions of mankind are strange, my Saxon friend. You should know that above all people. You have seen enough violence in your investigations with our lady Fidelma. What angers one person, amuses another. What causes harm to one, causes benefit to someone else. Whatever slight your friend believes he has suffered might not seem much to you but will mean the world to him.’ Brother Conchobhar clapped Eadulf on the shoulder and chuckled. ‘At least you may give thanks to the arrival of Abbot Ultán for one thing.’
Eadulf did not understand.
‘His arrival has caused you to forget your personal concerns about your fitness to go through with the ceremony tomorrow. You will be too preoccupied with watching Abbot Ultán and waiting for the trouble that he will undoubtedly cause.’
CHAPTER FOUR
It was a sombre group that gathered that evening in the private chamber of Colgú, king of Muman. The handsome, red-haired king sprawled moodily in his carved oak chair before the fire. Fidelma sat upright opposite him with Eadulf standing behind her, one hand resting on the back of her chair. Caol, the commander of the bodyguard, stood discreetly with his back to the door, as if on guard, while a chair had been brought for Abbot Ségdae, newly arrived from the abbey of Imleach, and another for Baithen, the brehon of Muman.
‘It is upsetting, I know, lady,’ Baithen finally said, voicing the consensus of the group.
Fidelma returned his concerned gaze with a smile. ‘I had a premonition that the arrival of Abbot Ultán would not bring happiness to this place. Yet we have heard these arguments so many times before. Is that not so, Eadulf?’
The Saxon inclined his head in agreement.
‘You will remember the violent opposition of the old Bishop Petrán to our trial marriage?’ he said. ‘So violent was the argument that when he died a natural death soon after, I was even accused of his murder.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. It had been the prejudice and incompetence of Dathal, the former brehon of Muman, that had caused the mistake that had almost convinced everyone at Cashel that Eadulf was to blame for the old bishop’s death. The discovery of the truth had led to Dathal’s enforced retirement from office and the appointment of Baithen as brehon in his place.
‘We have weathered these objections before and doubtless will do so again,’ observed Fidelma.
Abbot Ségdae sighed, and not for the first time during the conversation. ‘Nevertheless, it is upsetting that Abbot Ultán arrives on the eve of your wedding to seize the opportunity to voice his arguments before the assembled kings of Éireann. It is obviously done deliberately because the opportunity to address such an audience at one time comes infrequently.’
‘A pity that this agitator did not meet with some accident on his journey here,’ muttered Colgú darkly. Then, seeing the look of disapproval from his legal and spiritual advisers, he shrugged apologetically. ‘Quod avertat Deus — which may God avert,’ he added without conviction. ‘However, the abbot tells me he is an envoy from the abbot and bishop Ségéne of Ard Macha. At least he has no authority here.’
‘He has no authority,’ agreed Brehon Baithen. ‘Neither in the law of this land nor, so far as I know them, in the rules of the Faith. Not even Rome enforces celibacy among its religious.’
‘Exactly,’ Fidelma agreed emphatically. ‘If we can ignore Ultán’s prejudice then surely our guests can?’
Colgú glanced at Caol. ‘And our guests have all arrived and are secure in their accommodations?’
The young warrior took a step forward.
‘As you know, Sechnassach, the High King, and his retinue were the last to arrive, at midday,’ he replied. ‘Before him, there arrived Fianamail of Laigin, Blathmac of Ulaidh, and the king of Connacht, Muirchertach Nár. They, with their ladies, and their tánaiste and nobles, are all settled in their quarters.’
‘I see Muirchertach Nár of Connacht is accompanied by Abbot Augaire of Conga.’ Abbot Ségdae smiled grimly. ‘Caol tells me that Abbot Augaire has already engaged in an angry discourse with Abbot Ultán.’
Colgú looked surprised and troubled. ‘Arguments already? About his protest over Fidelma? Caol, what happened?’
‘Not exactly an argument over anything, so far as I witnessed. It seemed that there was an underlying tension. Abbot Augaire’s words were spoken in a civil tone though they were bitter. He did call Ultán an arrogant messenger from an arrogant bishop. But no voice was raised, no specific argument made. It seemed that they had met in the past and that there was still bitterness between them.’
Abbot Ségdae’s features were sorrowful. ‘I presume that the tension arises from the same argument that he had with me at Imleach. It is the claim of Ard Macha to be the primatial seat of the Faith in all the five kingdoms. Abbot Augaire of Conga is one of the many abbots and bishops who reject that claim.’
The king turned his worried gaze towards his brehon. ‘Is there any way that we can exclude Abbot Ultán from the ceremony tomorrow? I fear that there are enough problems without Ultán making public protests.’
Brehon Baithen exchanged a quick glance with the Abbot Ségdae.
‘There is no legal excuse,’ he said. ‘He is entitled to stand up and voice his objections to the marriage. We all acknowledge that he is, after all, the emissary from Ard Macha, which is very influential. Any discourtesy to Abbot Ultán may be interpreted as an insult to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, in whose kingdom Ard Macha is the chief religious house.’
Colgú drummed his fingers for a moment on the arm of his chair.
‘This was to have been an occasion of unity and serenity,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Kings and nobles and many of distinction have all come as our guests to witness this ceremony. Even the Uí Fidgente. That alone is a great tribute to my sister’s diplomacy in attempting to heal the wounds created at the battle of Cnoc Áine. That dissension sown by a firebrand prelate from outside this kingdom should now threaten the day. .’ He ended with a helpless shake of his head.
There was a pause before Brehon Baithen cleared his throat.
‘I have a suggestion.’
They turned to him expectantly. The brehon grimaced as if a little undecided whether to continue.
‘The objection of this Abbot Ultán is based solely on the fact that the lady Fidelma took vows to serve the Faith. Is that not so?’
‘Obviously so,’ agreed Abbot Ségdae. ‘And, as we continually point out, not even Rome lays strictures on the marriage of the religious. The idea that all who serve the Faith must remain celibate is only argued by a particular school of philosophers.’
‘It would end all argument if the lady Fidelma simply withdrew from those vows. You, Ségdae, as senior abbot and bishop of the kingdom, could pronounce on it. After all, since she left Cill Dara, Fidelma has not served in any religious house. There is no need for it. She follows her primary calling as an advocate of our laws.’
Fidelma leaned forward slightly from her chair. Her voice was sharp.
‘That would be admitting the validity of Ultán’s protests — that religious should not get married,’ she pointed out. ‘It is true that I only joined the house at Cill Dara at the suggestion of my cousin, Abbot Laisran. I have never been a religieuse in the strict sense. But, having said that, I will not withdraw when there is no need. When there is no rule that would force me to do so, why should I? No,’ she continued decisively, ‘since Abbot Ultán is determined to make an issue of this matter by interrupting the ceremony in the chapel, I think we should face his arguments rather than seek to avoid them.’